


Food for Thought

by Zedrobber



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley can't taste human food, General bickering, M/M, aziraphale makes an accidental miracle, obviously, old married couple vibes, tw food description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 20:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20197771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zedrobber/pseuds/Zedrobber
Summary: Aziraphale wonders why Crowley never eats all of his lunch. Crowley doesn't really want to explain it. Barbecues ensue.The idea of Crowley not being able to taste properly was inspired by a few lines in a fic I've read on here - I cannot for the life of me find it though, since I was on mobile and logged out when I read it.EDIT: Thanks to a comment from Ghostinthehouse, I've got it- it's "When in Rome" by Kedreeva, read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20061892Thank you both for the inspiration and for the finding!





	Food for Thought

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [When in Rome](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20061892) by [Kedreeva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva). 

“Crowley dear, is there a reason why you only ever eat half of your lunch before giving it to me?”

The question, Crowley mused, was overdue; they had been dining together for what, nearly six thousand years, and in all of that time Crowley had never finished a meal. 

Not that he  _ needed _ to eat, of course. It was more of an - indulgence, he supposed. One that Aziraphale had absolutely embraced.

“All this time and you ask me that now?” he said, stalling for time. He absolutely did  _ not _ want to tell Aziraphale the real reason, but he couldn’t have explained why. It just felt - embarrassing, somehow. Like he was lacking something that the angel had in abundance.

“I just assumed you didn’t particularly feel hungry,” Aziraphale said with some sheepishness. “I should have asked sooner.”

“I don’t,” Crowley shrugged, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. “I never really have.”

“Are you - completely sure that’s all, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, hesitating. His eyes searched Crowley’s carefully behind his sunglasses, and Crowley cursed inwardly. He had never been very good at lying to  _ this _ particular angel. 

He looked away instead of answering, scrubbing a hand through his hair and feigning nonchalance.  _ Great job, not at all suspicious _ .

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed patiently, folding his hands in front of him on the table and waiting. There were three bites of his cheesecake left, which meant that he was serious.

“It doesn’t matter, angel.” 

“I would like to know if there’s something wrong,” Aziraphale said, and there was a shade of hurt in his voice that made Crowley unbearably guilty. “If you’re just trying to - to get it over with, so you can leave earlier, I’d like to know so that I don’t keep delaying you.” Crowley knew that if he looked back, the angel’s bottom lip would be trembling ever so slightly, his expression wounded but guarded. He couldn’t bear it.

“It’s not that,  _ never _ that,” he said without thinking, lip curling a little at the very thought. 

“Then what is it, my dear? Please, let me help if I can.”

“You can’t!” Crowley snapped, leaning back precariously on two legs in his chair. “Alright? There’s nothing to help.”

The silence stretched between them for a moment. Crowley realised Aziraphale wasn’t going to back down - or finish that blessed cheesecake - until he got what he wanted, and with a thud, he let his chair right itself so that he was looking at the angel again.

“You promise not to give me that look?”

“What look?”

“The angelic look of pious pity you so effortlessly give to wretched and useless creatures.”

“I do not!”

“I saw you give it to that duck with the broken wing.”

“I never -”

“Before you discreetly miracled it better and tossed it back at the water.”

“Well - “

“But I don’t want it, alright? Swear!”

“I swear,” Aziraphale said, curiosity piqued.

Crowley took a breath and said, looking very fixedly at the unused spoon in front of him, “I don’t really taste much.”

“What do you - “

“I mean, angel,” he said, forcing the words out through gritted teeth and feeling his skin flush uncomfortably, “that demons, generally, don’t taste much, if anything. I can taste more than most others, I think, maybe because I spent so much time up here - I know what it’s  _ supposed _ to taste like, I can get the flavour if I concentrate on it - but it tastes like -” he swallowed thickly, remembering the cloying taste of it, the dry, choking sensation. “- like ashes and sulphur and dust, always overpowering the rest.”

“Oh, my dear Crowley -”

“Please don’t.”

“But -”

“You’re making that face! I told you -”

“You should have  _ said _ something. All those years, I dragged you along to lunches and breakfasts and - and even  _ brunches _ , and I know how much you hate the very  _ idea _ of brunch -”

“It’s fine, angel.”

Aziraphale looked at him in bewildered despair. “But it isn’t! I made you eat all of those things! And it all tasted like -  _ Hell?” _

Crowley smiled vaguely, reaching out to tap the forgotten plate of cheesecake in front of the angel. “You didn’t make me. I did it because I wanted to - I, uh -” he realised where the sentence was going right as he said it and ploughed on regardless “- I wanted to spend time with you. It was worth every bite.”

“The oysters, too?”

“Wet fishy dust.”

“And the crepes?”

“Doughy ash. With strawberries,” he added thoughtfully.

“How simply awful.” Aziraphale looked genuinely upset, as though he felt it was entirely his own fault that Crowley had suffered.

Crowley shrugged. “I’m used to it. Could be worse - at least I don’t  _ have  _ to eat to survive.”

“But it’s so  _ nice. _ ” Aziraphale’s lip was wobbling again. Finally, he nodded to himself, chin tilted determinedly. “Alright. I won’t ask you to lunch any more. We can meet somewhere else - somewhere, anywhere you’d like to -” he trailed off, looking briefly sad at the thought of all of those missed opportunities for a little lunch together, and then pulled his expression back to neutrally optimistic. “I can’t let you sit there while - while I enjoy it. It wouldn’t be right.”

Crowley’s heart gave a painful lurch. As sacrifices went, it wasn’t the most extravagant or dramatic, but it was absolutely an act of selfless love as surely as Aziraphale laying down his life to save him. He gazed at the angel and was suddenly thankful that his dark glasses hid the undoubtedly ridiculous adoration pouring from his eyes. He desperately hoped that Aziraphale would be distracted enough that he didn’t feel the sudden burst of love in his general vicinity.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, choked up and trying to hide it, voice threatening to crack traitorously. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, angel. I  _ enjoy _ watching you eat.”

“You do?”

“I wouldn’t change a thing,” he said firmly. “You never look happier than when I slide my cake over to you or insist on paying for your ridiculous brunch. I love watching you eat a four- person tapas sharing platter by yourself, or order so much sushi that I wonder how you’ll ever manage it. I like imagining what it tastes like to you.”

“I always manage it. Oh no, the sushi too?” Aziraphale wailed.

“Fishy. Ash,” Crowley sighed tolerantly. “I like the spicy stuff, though. I can taste heat. Either that or spicy food just tastes like hell anyway.”

“What if,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, picking up his spoon again. “I - described it to you? What it tastes like, I mean.”

“You don’t have to do that, angel,” Crowley assured him.

“I want to. If - if it wouldn’t upset you.”

“You can if you like, I suppose.” Impulsively, Crowley reached across the table to run his thumb over the back of Aziraphale’s knuckles, his fingertips lingering on the angel’s hand. “Thank you.”

Aziraphale smiled a smile so sunny that the rain outside literally stopped and the clouds parted, transforming the day into the kind of mid - summer heatwave that had all English people buying barbecues. Unfortunately, it was October, and the shops were out of barbecue stock. Crowley did a quick miracle and incredibly, retail workers found that their back store rooms all had a small selection of last years barbecue ranges.  _ Air pollution, _ he justified.  _ Very evil of me, really. _

Happily, Aziraphale chewed a mouthful of cheesecake and swallowed it, pausing for a moment. “It’s truly delicious, Crowley my dear. Delectably creamy and cool, a hint of vanilla with a sharp tang of blackberries and a sweet, sugary aftertaste which isn’t too overpowering. It tastes like a crisp autumn day in the sunshine.”

It wasn’t just his words that made Crowley smile into his coffee; it was the happiness radiating from him, the sheer joy in sensation and taste and texture that made him light up and really come alive in a way that Crowley suspected he never did in Heaven, eyes bright and face flushed a pleased and delicate pink.

“- and the base is truly marvellous, really it is, it has an undertone of something rich and spicy - oh! They must have used ginger biscuits, how  _ clever _ \- and it’s deliciously buttery -” Aziraphale was continuing, finishing up the last bite with obvious relish. “It’s scrumptious.” He patted his mouth with his napkin and then glanced nervously up at Crowley. 

“Was that - alright?”

“Perfect, angel,” Crowley said fondly. “Was like I was eating it myself. Only, y’know. Without the sulphur.”

“Oh, I  _ am  _ glad. Perhaps next time we should have sushi again. You can have the spicy ones, and I’ll describe the rest.”

“Any excuse to eat sushi.” Crowley rolled his eyes, making sure to exaggerate his eyebrows so that Aziraphale wouldn’t miss the expression. In response, he merely pressed his lips together and gave Crowley a withering glance that dissolved into laughter. Crowley grinned to himself. 

“Right then,” Aziraphale said eventually, finishing his tea and moving to stand up. “I’ll just pay, and then we can be off.”

“Nah, I’ll get this one,” Crowley drawled, slouching to his feet and heading off to the till. “You can pay for sushi.”

“You never make me pay for sushi and you know it.”

“Don’t I? Oh well, I can’t break tradition.”

“You really are good to me.”

“Shut up.” He offered his arm for Aziraphale to take and they strolled out into the unseasonably warm sunshine together. 

“Oh, how lovely! When did that happen? And why can I smell barbecue in October?”

\--

  
  
  
  



End file.
